“I do put in effort. I’m here, aren’t I? I’m trying to make this work.” My voice rises despite my best attempts to stay calm.
“Effort?” She leans forward again, and I can see the judgment written all over her face. “Really? Because from where I’m sitting, you’re wearing clothes that do nothing for you, complaining about your beautiful home, and fighting your husband at every turn.” The silence stretches for three heartbeats. “What part of that makes you desirable?”
The air leaves my body all at once. “You’re twisting everything I said.”
Her expression remains neutral. “Are you sure about that? I was pregnant and still managed to be a wife your father wanted to come home to. I put on lipstick. I wore dresses. I made sure he felt desired.” She shifts her weight, settling deeper into the cushions. “And he never thought about cheating.”
“Good for you.” I can’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “Congratulations on being a 1950s housewife. Do you want a medal?”
“You’re lucky Alexei loves you as much as he does,” she continues, her voice still calm and matter-of-fact, “You’re lucky he’s not the type to find satisfaction elsewhere when his wife stops trying.” She reaches for a pastry, breaks off a small piece,but doesn’t eat it. “But I suggest you start dressing better and making an effort. Because as your pregnancy grows, so does your weight. If you don’t watch it now, you’ll balloon.”
Yelena breaks her silence with a sharp intake of breath. “You cannot be serious right now.”
She continues as if Yelena never interrupted, still focused entirely on me. “You’re already quite thick, Zoya. Sure, he likes it now. But keep eating the way you are, letting him indulge every craving, and you might get bigger.” Finally, she spares Yelena a glance. “Men tolerate a lot, but not everything.”
Yelena stands up halfway before catching herself, her thighs lifting off the cushion. “Are you listening to yourself? Do you hear how toxic that is?”
My mom’s eyebrows lift slightly, the only sign she’s even registered Yelena’s anger. “The truth isn’t always kind, or would you prefer I lie to her?”
Yelena’s voice climbs higher, and she gestures wildly between my mother and me. “Help? You call that help? You just told her she’s getting too fat to fuck.”
“I expect her to take care of herself and not use pregnancy as an excuse to let herself go.” My mom’s voice doesn’t rise to meet Yelena’s anger, staying level and controlled while she straightens the magazines on the coffee table.
Yelena moves into my mom’s space, her shadow falling across the older woman. “She almost died three weeks ago. She’s traumatized. And you’re worried about her fucking weight?”
My mom remains seated, looking up at Yelena with infuriating calm while she straightens her skirt over her knees. “You can be angry with me all you want. But ignoring the problem won’t make her marriage better.”
I try to say something, anything, but part of me wonders if she’s right. My hand moves to cover my mouth.
“Okay, so,” Anya’s voice cracks slightly as she tucks her hair behind her ear nervously, “hear me out. Ignore everything about weight. That’s fucked up.” She holds up her hands defensively when Yelena’s eyes narrow. “But what if the pajamas thing is real? What if you tried dressing up one night?”
My head snaps toward Anya. “Are you serious right now? You’re taking her side?”
Anya leans forward slightly, trying to soften the blow, her hand hovering near mine on the cushion. “What if he’s pulling away because he thinks you don’t want him? Like, what if it’s a miscommunication?”
“I want him all the time.” Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, and I blink rapidly, trying to stop them. “He’s all I think about.”
“But are you showing him that?” Anya tilts her head, her eyes soft with pity, and she scoots closer to me on the sofa. “Like, physically demonstrating it? Or just hoping he reads your mind?”
I feel the guilt settling into my bones, and I slouch lower into the sofa. “What am I supposed to do? I’m exhausted all the time.”
My mom stands up, towering over where I’m still sitting, and she picks up her reading glasses from the coffee table, folding them carefully. “Your marriage is failing because you’re prioritizing yourself over him. Fix it or watch it crumble.”
My voice cracks. “You’re being cruel.” I look down at my lap because I can’t meet her eyes.
“Life isn’t fair my darling daughter.” She turns toward the hallway, already dismissing me, her heels clicking against the hardwood. “I’m going to lie down. This conversation is giving me a headache.”
I catch Yelena murmuring “Fucking typical” to herself as she stands and begins pacing.
My mom freezes mid-step, turning slowly, her entire body pivoting to face Yelena. “Your disapproval means nothing to me. I’ve been married for thirty years. How long did your longest relationship last?”
Yelena steps forward, positioning herself between my mother and me. “The problem isn’t Zoya. The problem is that her husband is emotionally unavailable, and you’re blaming her for it.”
My mom straightens to her full height, rolling her shoulders back. “Alexei is not some ordinary man having a bad day at the office. He’s the most powerful man in Russia. And his pregnant wife is complaining that he won’t let her wander around dangerous neighborhoods.” She looks at me with cold finality, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Grow up.”
“You think you’re entitled to his desire just because you’re carrying his child?” She shakes her head slowly, her expression pitying. “That’s not how men work. Make yourself desirable or accept a sexless marriage.” She turns on her heel and walks away.
Then she’s gone, her footsteps echoing down the hallway while I sit frozen in place. Anya is staring at her hands. Yelena is breathing hard through her nose.